


i think they call it cataclysm

by penceyprat



Series: love, and other things you make me mad enough to try [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Angst, Asexual Jughead Jones, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Boyfriends, Coming Out, F/F, M/M, archie is oblivious to everything, but he's not sure on that one yet, but overall happy ending, for the purposes of this series jughead is demiromantic, jughead struggles with being archie's boyfriend and what that means, self discovery and all that, some mild self-destructive behaviour, veronica's really obvious crush on betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: jughead traces archie’s smile in the lowlight. he watches the way he talks and not the words that escape his mouth. it’s intrinsic. maddening. but it is, what it is. and they are, what they are.and for once, jughead doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.what he gets instead, is this dizzying feeling, like maybe all along the universe has been making sense; he’s just been reading the stars wrong.





	i think they call it cataclysm

sometimes jughead wonders what it feels like to lose control.

but then he sees archie andrews, curled into his chest, in the five a.m. light, and decides that perhaps now is the time to stop asking questions.

perhaps now is the time to start living.

but jughead’s never been sure that he knows what living feels like. not really.

sometimes, though. he thinks he might be getting close.

-

they ease into things. motions. routines. become the people they once shaped their fantasies around. at least in each other’s eyes.

it’s all very surreal. falsified. they know, like the sun knows the moon, that it cannot and will not last, but still they tug at it with trembling fingertips, as if it’s all that’s chaining them from the cliff’s edge. but from their scramble to hold onto it, neither boy has a clue whether the waters below are shark-infested or an oceanic paradise, desperately missed out on.

sometimes jughead wonders. sometimes jughead dares. sometimes jughead even looks down.

because it’s like freefalling when archie wakes him up with hazy eyes, lazy smiles, and a kiss.

jughead might be getting good at kissing now. he thinks. or at least decent enough at pretending. whichever it is, it makes archie smile. and that’s enough.

jughead’s living in double fold, as both the trembling fingertips curled around the bathroom sink, and the face in the mirror smiling back at him. the world is nightmare; sometimes there’s just no telling who’s the monster, because right now jughead feels like he’s running from everyone and everything.

“jug.” archie’s voice is soft; he can hear the way he pushes his head against the closed bathroom door.

jughead makes a noise. anything.

“you alright in there?” archie’s got that vague sense of concern: it’s a perfected facade. he knows jughead doesn’t like seeing him worry. but jughead knows him better still. and jughead just doesn’t like seeing him pretend.

“yeah.” he sighs, ducks his head and averts his eyes.

there’s jughead-in-the-mirror, listening in; he can feel him laughing at him. his reflection doesn’t care for lies, as much as jughead doesn’t care for the truth.

they share more than the same skin. jughead and the face he sees in the mirror staring back at him. neither jughead is quite sure how they got here. everything was hazy dreams and running that never stops, and archie lips against his, and then a double-take against the bathroom sink.

he’s aware, vaguely. of the hole he’s making. picking and tearing, piece by piece, at everything that keeps archie andrews tall and golden. but he couldn’t stop. not even if he wanted to.

the answers have long abandoned the both of them. jughead and his reflection. for the world is just sinking, and maybe these fingertips in a cast iron grip on the bathroom sink is the only thing jughead’s got left for him.

still, he lets go. because there’s nothing like feeling afraid.

there’s nothing like pushing open the bathroom door and finding archie staring back at him.

archie looks at him, like he doesn’t really believe he’s okay. jughead reckons it’s probably because he doesn’t. he stands there for a moment and tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter to him. it does,

but then there’s archie.

there’s archie.

archie puts a hand to waist; moves jughead like he’s just a body to hold. he’s fluid in his motions: making enough movement for the both of them. and as jughead stares wide-eyed, the only thing he can think is - ‘he’s good at this.’

it’s always a sobering notion. even though jughead’s hardly much of a drinker. because in a lot of ways, jughead’s hardly much of anything.

and jughead thinks of all the people before him: leaving marks on archie’s lips. 

he dares to think of all who will succeed him too. because this morning is not one of those whimsically ethereal ones in which he’s condemned to kid himself that this, this thing they have going on could possibly last.

“you sure you’re up for school today?” archie is quick to turn back to concern; it’s mere moments after he tugs his lips away from jug’s.

jughead sighs. rolls his eyes.

he thinks sometimes it’s like archie can’t decide whether he wants to be his boyfriend or his mother. but he doesn’t say that out loud, because it will only open the doors to conversation he doesn’t quite dare to face. at least not yet.

“yes.” he says, instead. it’s oddly definitive. jughead finds amusement in that: the only thing he can be sure of exactly isn’t the truth.

“i’m sure.” he motions with his body; it’s a stab in the dark, at this whirring mess of complications and feelings that’s taken to disguising itself as archie andrews. but his hands find archie’s.

and suddenly that’s a thing.

jughead is half-way breathless as archie casts his gaze downwards, cheeks flushed red. at first he even thinks he’s done something wrong, but perhaps the only wrong here is that he’s done everything right.

“hey…” archie says, all soft and coy. jughead thinks that must be the voice he talks to girls in. girls. girls and him.

jughead realises rather suddenly that perhaps they’re on this boat in the same choppy water, because not only is archie andrews his first boyfriend, but he’s archie andrews’ first boyfriend too.

jughead tries on a smile. for size. he decides maybe he quite likes the fit.

because there’s something about that. there’s a sense of satisfaction. a sense of victory. it’s not a game. this is not a war. but jughead’s always liked winning. and fate just seems to shine golden with archie’s hands in his own.

“hey…” he mutters back. it’s a poor imitation of archie’s tone. because jughead doesn’t talk to girls like that. jughead doesn’t talk to anyone like that. only archie.

it’s his ‘archie andrews you’re destroying me from the inside’ voice. he’s in love with the way it stings against his lips. love is feeble notion, but he likes the way it carves him out and brings him to his knees at the very least.

“so this boyfriends thing.” it’s archie that begins. he meets jughead dead in the eyes. and jughead gasps enough to let archie know that he, he hadn’t been expecting that.

archie tugs on a smile. he wears it well. 

“this boyfriends thing.” jughead nods and tugs himself to full stature; he’s painfully aware of archie’s fingers brushing over his own. it’s such a soft, tentative gesture that it almost makes him sick.

he thinks if archie wants something then he should just take it.

but jughead doesn’t dare to say it aloud. because he fears for the life of him, just what archie might do.

still it’s fear that ignites a flame inside him, and keeps him amused. for games are to be played by two. he squeezes archie’s hands in his own; and doesn’t think he’ll ever miss the way archie jolts into his grasp.

they are, two live wires, sparking with noxious fumes.

“how open do you want to be about it?” archie speaks all too fast, like the notion scares him. “because, whatever you wanna do, i’ll-“

“archie.” jughead gives his fingers a tug. “you want to do what you want to do. you’re just willing to accommodate me.”

archie looks at jughead, this dark-haired impossible boy of his, like he’s infinitely dwarfed by each and every utterance from his lips.

jughead thinks it might be dizzying. “that’s better. means you care.”

archie smiles, because maybe under the young morning light, it’s all he knows how to do. and the games they pick to play are always the ones they know how to win.

“so, do you want to tell people? or not just yet?” and then archie asks him that million dollar question, and looks like he’s pretending not to know the way it shakes him.

jughead thinks he’s falling.

for what. for who. for anything. he’s yet to tell.

but jughead thinks he’s falling. and god, does it feel good. 

a fire waned away brought back to flame. just for moments, they are fireworks on the fourth of july, the thick stench of secrets burnt like incense upon the summer air.

“do you want to?” jughead turns the question back on him. “do you want to sit down and look, betty, veronica, in the eyes, and say, jughead, jughead’s my boyfriend?”

archie looks like he doesn’t know how to answer that.

jughead’s spent: stumbling over the line between truth and lie.

“yeah.” archie says, gasping on air, like he doesn’t quite believe it. “if that’s what you want.”

jughead pulls away, shakes his head. “don’t do it for me. do it for you.”

“i…” archie doesn’t know where he went wrong. he’s all wide-eyes and stammers, and for a moment, jughead thinks he’s scared - almost.

“i don’t get to decide how you come out to people.” jughead meets his eyes on that one. it’s something he wholeheartedly means. “that’s you. that’s…” he breaks off into a sigh. “and you don’t get to decide how i come out to people.”

archie nods. he’s still confused. back and forth confusion.

but jughead likes him like that. he thinks maybe now they’re on the same level.

“tell betty and veronica if you want to.” jughead draws out a sigh. “no one else. not right now.”

he thinks cheryl is more than enough.

on that one, both archie and jughead, in head, reflection, and in self, are on the same level.

-

archie doesn’t know what he wants. it’s all give and no take.

maybe he’s content just to be. to sit by jughead’s side, and know what they share.

it’s his favourite secret. it’s his favourite everything.

until cheryl blossom catches his eyes across the room and shatters it all in two.

she’s silent; he’s glad, of that, impossibly. perhaps it’s almost like she understands, but that’s not a hole archie has any right to fall into. so he keeps his eyes away, plays to her game, and turns back to their table.

he’s got this spinning in his head. the cafeteria comes in and out of focus. he thinks the only constant might be the way jughead’s pressed close to his thigh.

he wonders if betty and veronica notice. he wonders if they even care. sometimes archie thinks he would give his life to know the inner workings of each and everyone’s head; but he knows better of himself and the only gift worth striving for is to know wholeheartedly that the workings of anyone’s mind could never matter to him.

he just thinks he’s been stuck in this bubble lately.

jughead and him.

their little world. as daunting as it may at times seem.

and then betty’s smiling at him. smiling like she’s noticed he’s got something on his mind. her eyebrows tug out a quirk of concern, like she wants to unravel him until she’s got his heart exposed to her every wonder. archie stretches backwards instinctively.

and then jughead’s watching him too.

veronica’s gaze chases the others in time.

and all at once, all eyes are watching him. and it’s not in the way they used to. it’s not the kind of attention that archie likes. it’s not all that jughead despises him for. because they are, at once, something else entirely.

“what?” archie tries on a laugh. he wonders if he’s even fooling himself.

“what’s bothering you?” betty’s the first to speak. perhaps upon the wing of that moment, concern is a currency, well spent. but jughead’s out of pocket, eyes thrown down to the floor.

archie knows at least that nothing isn’t going to cut it.

so he tries on a smile and faces the half-truth, or as much of himself than he can quite muster out in the public eye. “cheryl keeps staring at me. giving me weird looks.”

veronica tries on a smirk. “i don’t know. maybe she likes you.”

jughead looks up them. his eyes are dark, determined.

“no she doesn’t.” he spits, with more force than had perhaps been anticipated.

and then the girls are watching him, and archie can do little more than give jughead a discreet little kick under the table.

jughead’s eyes dart back to him; his face appears wrong-played, like this is an endless losing game. but softens in the turn of a minute. for archie lends him a smile to hide behind.

and the girls are clueless, silent, but searching for cheryl amidst the crowds now, at the very least. but part of archie doesn’t know if he’s glad at all.

he wonders how ‘i’m dating jughead’ would have felt against his lips. and how loud the silence would have chimed out. for if he’d been sat with intent to cut a hole in the room, that would have been the way to do it.

-

they go out to pop’s. one of these days. after school.

it’s just the two of them.

jughead’s sat in his booth, half-way through his first burger, before he realises, like a hare comes to glance the trap that springs up around it, that archie andrews has just taken him out on a date.

jughead freezes.

archie notices, immediately, because he’s been watching him, with those soft eyes of his, like he wants to be the storm to freeze hell over personally.

but jughead shivers. and hates the notion that archie just might have succeeded.

“archie andrews.” he addresses him, putting his burger down, and leaning back against the booth.

archie sparks like he’s racing to action; almost like he might have expected this. it’s a curious notion, truly.

“jughead jones.” he plays back into his hand, playing nice. too nice exactly. because sometimes jughead just doesn’t like the path of redemption that archie’s set out for him.

he quirks his brows, impatient, waiting.

“the third.” archie amends. 

jughead hates the way he smiles, because he thinks it just might be melting him. in truth, he doesn’t hate that archie andrews smile. just the way it makes him feel.

for it makes him feel like another one of those girls. and jughead’s not another one of archie’s ex-girlfriends, he’s not a warmth against his lips. not a body to hold. he’s jughead jones the third, and he’s archie andrews’ first boyfriend, and sometimes he gets mad enough to even think that he wants the whole world to know it.

“is this a date?” the word hums and tears against his lips.

archie laughs, but jughead doesn’t miss the way his cheeks redden too.

he lays his hands out on the table, as if in truce. jughead wonders what circles they’ll be spinning in now.

“if you want it to be.”

jughead’s silent. stopped. melting.

because dates. those are what boyfriends do.

this isn’t a fucking game. this just is.

he’s the one that’s got it all twisted. but he sits of the cusp of a knot he doesn’t dare to undo.

“do you?” he inclines his eyes in archie’s direction, desperate to play it cool.

he doesn’t think for a second that archie’s buying it, but it soothes his own head at least.

and then archie speaks up, loud, like he’s finally latched onto one thing he’s sure of.

“yeah, i do.”

but jughead can’t even look him in the eyes.

-

jughead’s certain, of one thing only. and it’s that he’s archie andrews’ worst boyfriend.

granted, he’s archie andrews’ only boyfriend, but there’s this terrible notion at the back of his head which insists that it’s a title sure to stick by him.

jughead thinks he’s a pretty shitty boyfriend in general. he’s bad at dates, bad at kissing, doesn’t want to have sex, doesn’t know what to do with himself in the dark when archie is all skin and bones pressed up against him.

it’s a truly radical notion, even more so by jughead’s reckoning, but it comes striking down with a definite sense of pertinence. one jughead can’t ignore.

he needs some advice. he maybe even needs the whole handbook on how to be archie andrews’ boyfriend. that’s a whole unexplored area, he knows, as archie’s first boyfriend, but he at least needs the handbook on how to date archie andrews. or at the very least, how to date anyone.

the notion is all well and good, strung through his mind with delicate thread, cast only in the hazy evening night. it’s only until that coming monday and jughead dares to pay passing students in the corridors any kind of attention, that he finds himself rather affronted by the notion that all of archie’s ex-girlfriends are not the kind of people he’d ever have a conversation with at all.

because he’s not sure archie and betty’s elementary school relationship counts.

for a damned fucking moment jughead’s not even sure if he counts. because moments escape on the backs of breathy little gasps, and there’s little time at all until he’s got his back pressed up against the wall of the corridor and he’s staring blankly into empty space.

for all at once. with no warning, no premonition.

jughead wonders if he’s archie’s type at all.

because, jughead is quick to realise - he doesn’t know what that is. sure, archie’s his best friend, archie’s even his boyfriend now, as ridiculous as it sounds inside of his head. but he doesn’t know what archie’s type is; he’s at home in the frantic happenings of archie andrews’ head, but a fading stranger on the threshold of his heart.

he skips first period. he doesn’t even mean to.

his feet work for themselves. he’s corridor, locker, bathroom, with his head thrown against the graffitied wall. it’s one of those days that school feels an awful lot like a prison. but he’s not going to skip. not now he’s got fred andrews to worry about him; he already feels guilty enough, dating his son.

because fred is another ticking time bomb waiting to happen. because jughead isn’t stupid; he can’t sleep in archie’s bed forever and expect that fred will never notice. he doesn’t imagine that fred would mind. but it’s not a conversation he wants to have.

more than anything, jughead is certain that he doesn’t want anyone thinking about him and archie. he doesn’t want people’s heads in their business; it cuts him up the way cheryl’s words once did. it’s that notion of expectation. he thinks.

it’s that people might start to think he ought to be having sex with archie andrews. and jughead’s never cared about what anyone else thinks, he just worries that with time, archie might start to think it too.

and then. then. that’s when he’ll no longer be able to be enough.

time escapes him, swept away upon the easy hands of the early morning. everything is pacing footsteps and overthinking and not quite catching his reflection in the bathroom mirrors, until noise seeps in like noxious fumes from the crack in the bathroom door.

he’s lucky, really.

as the bell rings to signify the end of first period, and students pour and swarm out into the corridors. who knows who could have walked in through the bathroom door.

he’s lucky, really.

it’s kevin.

kevin looks at him, rather like he’s out of place. like he’s got his head screwed on backwards.

jughead only later realises that it’s because he’s still pacing.

kevin keller stares him down as he stops in front of the bathroom door.

“jughead?” he twirls the name around his lips, like it doesn’t quite fit.

perhaps it’s only then that kevin realises how unaccustomed he is to it. because they’re not friends, not really. jughead doesn’t mind kevin; he’s just another person that exists within his peripheral proximity. 

kevin is betty’s friend. but jughead is also betty’s friend. 

and kevin keller looks him down with calm concern: eyes that skirt the shore of trust and responsibility. jughead wishes, at the very least, that this doesn’t make its way back to betty, because he cares at least what betty cooper thinks of him.

but jughead knows that to ensure that this doesn’t leave this bathroom, he’s going to have to talk to kevin.

and at first, as they stand with blank faces and empty eyes, all notions of language have escaped him. and perhaps that’s even a relief. but fate worms its way back to him in the end. a cruel game of tug of war, or some sort.

“are you…?” kevin trails off, and laughs. it’s nervous laughter. jughead almost feels sorry for him, but it’s a poor replacement for self pity.

jughead doesn’t do feeling sorry for himself. not anymore. he thinks, as wicked and wonderful as it seems, that archie’s started worrying enough for the both of them. and there’s this strange part of him that’s perfectly content with that.

“okay?” is what kevin goes for in the end.

jughead almost commends him on it. okay is a safe bet. okay is vague, okay is discreet, okay is forgettable. okay isn’t ‘dating archie andrews’.

because jughead fears, sometimes, that he’s left archie andrews, in essence, in spirit, in soul, smothered incriminatingly across his lips.

but kevin keller doesn’t ask ‘are you dating archie andrews?’, he asks jughead if he’s okay, and leaves him to wonder the exact logistics of the whole gaydar thing. it’s curious. he almost feels like kevin knows. but more than that, he feels like he’s paranoid.

“yeah.” jughead shoves out a vague response. and stops pacing. because it seems it might at least help his case.

kevin smiles at him. it’s a sorry smile. jughead doesn’t know what to make of it.

“you weren’t in first period.” kevin continues, unafraid.

“i wasn’t aware you were in my math class?” jughead quirks his eyebrows in kevin’s direction.

kevin gives a shrug. “apparently you weren’t in it either.”

it’s then that kevin keller dumps his bag on the side and joins jughead by the window. he’s grateful, at least, that the bathroom’s deserted. 

“betty’s worried about you.” he explains. jughead figures - this has got betty cooper written all over it.

“tell her i’m fine.” jughead stresses, his tone more curt than it needs to be. he takes time in reminding himself that kevin has actually done nothing wrong.

“no.” kevin shakes his head. “i’m going to tell her that you were pacing in the bathroom first period, unless you want to tell me something else?”

jughead draws out a sigh. it’s the kind of thing that’s painful.

“what about a good reason not to?” he leans back against the sinks, fingers gripping porcelain. he doesn’t dare to face his reflection. for the jughead-in-the-mirror knows how every story ends, and the jughead-in-the-mirror has been watching him, like he’s a canary bird expected to sing.

kevin’s eyes widen. “wow.”

a smile, however, isn’t far behind. “alright then.”

and jughead dares to imagine, for even the most vapid of moments, that there’s this part of kevin keller that wants to be friends with him. that there’s this part of kevin keller that wants him to trust him.

jughead only fears that it’s the part of kevin that can sense archie’s presence on his lips; the part of kevin that might know they share the same bed. but jughead’s not gay. he’s not attracted to men. he’s attracted to archie, he thinks. he doesn’t know.

but he’s archie andrews’ first boyfriend, and sometimes they kiss and it doesn’t feel like the flaming hand of hell is reaching up inside of him. so that’s. something.

“i’ve got this problem.” jughead casts his gaze to the floor. the word ‘problem’ feels wrong on his lips. it all feels fucking wrong on his lips. it’s the part of his world that doesn’t dare to be spoken aloud. to be spewed onto the bathroom floor.

but kevin’s listening. intently.

and jughead’s damned enough to think that means something.

“it’s, it’s not really a problem, it’s just a… a… dilemma?” he inclines his head in kevin’s direction, but he doesn’t have the answers. “anyway.” he narrows his eyes. “it’s… it’s not something i want betty to get herself involved in, just yet. because, you know, if you assure her that something’s up- i mean, she means well, and i… i… appreciate? it? but…” 

jughead gives himself a moment. maybe two.

maybe ten.

“she’s not going to stop. she’ll keep digging and asking questions until she finds what she’s looking for.” jughead closes his eyes. maybe there’s a part of him that wants her to. because maybe then, this might all just stop.

“and you want to keep something from her.” kevin fills in the blanks for himself.

“just for a while.” he assures him.

although jughead has no grasp on just what a while means.

“it’s not hers to know, anyway, it’s…” he shakes his head, trails off, curses, and begins at full force. “it’s really… it’s very much my problem.”

“and you need some advice?” kevin throws his gaze from left to right. “but you don’t want betty to know- is it do you-“

“what?” jughead stammers, eyes wide. there’s something on the end of kevin’s tongue that throws his eyes like daggers at him.

kevin lowers his voice, face paling. “do you like betty?”

jughead’s face loses all colour. he blinks, frantically.

“no.” he stammers, words sprung from his lips fast enough to sever the inside of his cheek.

“god. no.” he shakes his head. looks at kevin. the floor. back. forth. back and forth.

“i mean-“ jughead cuts himself off. “no.” he repeats. it’s something he wants to make very clear.

“sorry.” kevin laughs, retreating a little.

“no.” jughead repeats, almost abhorred by the notion. “really?” he can’t help but stare kevin down.

“okay.” kevin laughs, taking a moment to compose himself. “you really don’t like betty.”

and suddenly jughead feels terrible. the worst friend.

he is at once, the worst best friend, and worst boyfriend, all at once. he’s a terrible human being, and he’s crumbly away in the school bathrooms.

the bell rings for second period. but kevin stays.

jughead watches him, expectant, waiting for him to leave, and within time for betty to come down on him, and the world to make a royal mess out of the fit that he’s started. but kevin remains, quiet, contemplative.

“it’s not that.” jughead continues in the end, as the noise from the hallways die down, and the students settle into their classroom, and the world returns to turning up its axis around them.

kevin quirks an eyebrow. half-way intrigued. jughead dares to imagine that he ought to be.

he throws out a laugh: a half-hearted kind of masochistic thing. “betty… yeah… not really my area.”

“oh my god.” kevin’s jaw drops.

jughead shivers. but shivers with the knowledge that he brought this upon himself.

to his back, his reflection is watching, laughing.

“you like boys?” kevin appears both astounded and honoured, which is a truly troubling concoction, but jughead can at least pride himself on being anything but kevin’s type. “because i can- i can give you advice on that-“

jughead laughs, shakes his head. because what a fucking hole he’s ended up in.

“just this one.”

kevin stills, waits for him to continue.

“i kind of…” jughead gestures with his hands, making up for the lack of what to say. “i think i ought to take him on a date. i even think i want to.”

kevin laughs. this time it feels natural.

“i just…” jughead draws out a sigh. “i don’t know quite how. i mean, dates, how do they even work?”

“dates are…” kevin throws on a smile. “they’re not quite as mystical as people seem to make them out to be. girls, especially. they’re just… hanging out. with kissing.”

and jughead, damned as he may seem, just thinks that ‘hanging out. with kissing’ is something he might be able to handle.

-

jughead traces archie’s smile in the lowlight. he watches the way he talks and not the words that escape his mouth. it’s intrinsic. maddening. but it is, what it is. and they are, what they are.

still, the word ‘boyfriends’ feels twisted and dizzying, and downright maddening. something his reflection might flick in his direction with a taunt. but there’s nought to be seen now, in the lowlight. it’s all tv screen and archie’s eyes, and every wave of sound contrived like a motion back and forth. back and forth. back and forth.

only then, eyes set on archie, spoon in his mouth, does jughead realise that he is very - back and forth. 

kevin’s words hang heavy on his heart. perhaps it’s not kevin alone, not the way he had come to regard jughead in the moments that followed. but the fact that jughead’s fucking half-way wretched secret has seeped out of his head and into the world.

but jughead wonders, as archie turns to him that night, whether he at all wants it to be a secret anymore.

“i’m sorry.” he says.

jughead finds it weird. to hear his voice aloud. to form those words.

he’s not well-versed in acts of apologetics. they both know that. jughead knows it’s because he’s an asshole. he wonders if archie’s got there yet.

“for what?” archie transgresses a smile.

“for being shit.” eloquence seems to have been long lost on him, but it’s honesty. the kind that’s heaven sent.

archie laughs it off. “you’re not…” he doesn’t quite finish. unable to get the words out. something like that.

jughead moves close to him. archie’s mattress almost moves as if to accept him. jughead wonders if he is welcome here at all.

“i’m a bad boyfriend.” he says, because it’s true. because the word ‘boyfriend’ does dangerous things to his insides, and he only ever strums words from his lips to feel them bleed. “it’s just that i don’t really know what i’m doing.”

archie laughs, and takes jughead’s shoulders under his arm. jughead lets archie move him into his lap, because maybe there’s this part of him that insists that it does make him feel better.

“well, here’s a secret.” archie pushes his chin into the crook of jughead’s neck. it makes jughead feel his favourite kind of drawn out. “i don’t either.”

jughead smiles. dark eyelashes chase his gaze down to the bedroom floor. he’s a seizing well of tormenting rapids and questions that strive only to yield no answers.

“i want…” he trails off. “i don’t know what i want really.”

“and that’s okay.” archie assures him.

but jughead wishes he could just stop feeling.

“can we just…” he trails off, gesturing with his hands. “like put on a movie…” his tone is fleeting. tentative. back and forth. he doesn’t know what he wants, only to stop wanting at all.

“course.” archie tugs away, reaching for his laptop. “what do you want-“

“but like…” and jughead doesn’t know how his hands find archie’s arms but they do. and it’s all pull and push and shove and desperate motions to masquerade already closed eyes.

“but like?” archie wants a follow up. an explanation. because of course he does. 

jughead can feel his breath, close, warm. it’s a strange, simple, comfort.

jughead stares up at the ceiling. “can we put on a movie but like… not watch the movie.”

and his lips just dare to tug at a smile.

archie is silent like he’s bled the world dry of words.

but there’s always a new wound to sever.

“and do what?” he plays crazy games with that smirk of his. jughead can feel it. the way it reverberates through each and every one of his bones.

“i don’t know.” jughead stretches out against the mattress, lets his limbs fall loose, and all he’d once called himself, fall away. 

“stupid shit.” is what he says. when what he means is ‘kiss me until my lips go so numb i can’t feel anymore’.

somehow, anyway, archie gets the message. and that’s more than enough.

-

he doesn’t hate it.

hate is the wrong word.

hate is always the wrong word.

for jughead could have sworn he had grown to hate archie over the summer. but there’s this sickly emptiness in his chest when he tries to produce any notion of hatred for him. sure, there are times when jughead dislikes archie. that’s natural. he thinks. he hopes. but to hate, it’s an entirely different thing.

he doesn’t hate it.

he just wants to carve it out of his skin.

it’s his own fault. those are the words his reflection taunts him with. because those light eyes, they dance and laugh and spin, like they care not will come of this, not what will come of him. because jughead doesn’t hate himself, just the person he comes eye to eye with in the mirror. and perhaps he’s only just learning the definitive distinction between the two.

but it’s true.

as much as the notion might tug and pull at every fibre of his being.

for what it’s worth, it’s the truth.

jughead not only let archie do it. he asked him to.

there’s just this unsteady gap between action and consequence that has shallow, sleepless eyes chasing his collarbones in the bathroom mirror at five in the morning.

because there’s this deep red mark upon his skin, sat with a sense impervious glee as it rides the upwards rise of his left collar bone. jughead calls it distaste to his own skin, because there’s a sense of power in bruises and laying them down under your own jurisdiction.

plaster affronted, bloodied knuckles are a calm condolence. speaking of the kind of emotion that jughead can control.

he thinks only then, as the clock spins past five, and his eyelids fall heavy upon his reflection, and he turns his attention to that hickey, for the hundredth time. that it was always about control. because when it comes to archie, it feels like they’re walking out onto quicksand, or an ocean of nothingness he was destined to sink right through.

but he doesn’t feel powerless. this isn’t drowning. because archie put it there. and jughead doesn’t think he’s going to forget that for the rest of his life, but. but, jughead knows, like his veins know the steady beating of his heart, that archie put it there because he asked him to. 

jughead knows that the only reason there’s a hickey on the ridge of his collar bone, simmering away in the steady early morning darkness, is because there’s this rampant, unruly part of him that wants there to be.

still he wants to carve it out of his fucking skin. to tear it away until there’s nothing left.

but he curls his fingers, and feels nothing at all. an infinite numbness that he thinks just might be for the better.

there’s a toxicity to his thoughts. wounded around an ail he can’t dare pinpoint. he knows that well. but he doesn’t know enough to shut it up.

he knows it like he knows that two wrongs don’t make a right, and a hole punched twice as deep isn’t going to bring him back to the surface. still, jughead tries. because maybe he’s drunk on the hurt, on the spiral of convulsions and pangs within his chest.

when jughead’s fist hits the bathroom wall, at 5:29 a.m., he feels ashamed, only for being such a burden. because that is a hole that fred andrews is going to have to fix. and jughead is sick of feeling like a problem easily avoided and entertained by others solely out of pity alone.

-

jughead’s fingers retreat up the sleeves of his sweater. he curses the cold morning air. just to pertain the illusion. archie smiles, cheeks turning pink. jughead wonders if he’ll blame that on the cold too.

but no, because archie’s started laughing at every word that comes out of jughead’s lips, and he swears it’s like hell. like the very air they breathe is something he could get high on. like the ground tearing away from beneath their feet.

betty stares right through him in the hallways. it takes him by surprise. because he’d expected kevin to let something slip regardless.

but as veronica scrambles for something in her locker, and they’re stood waiting in the hallway, half-way somewhere, half-way nothing, betty only sees archie. and as much as jughead hates it, he knows like the world over, how she feels.

he is caught off guard. however, by the way kevin’s eyes catch him in the light. he smiles. like they’re speaking their own silent language now. one entirely indiscernible to heterosexuals. jughead hates that he so likes the notion.

all though.

it’s a rather bizarre notion. one that catches him as veronica turns to whisper something to kevin. yet one that catches him with full force. because are any of them even heterosexual? 

jughead feels knee deep in cold water that’s rising by the minute, because kevin’s gay, and veronica’s bi, and archie is definitely not heterosexual - that’s one jughead can personally account for. does that leave betty as the straight friend?

and then jughead does something that he hasn’t made much of a habit of. he feels sorry for veronica. because last summer twists and turns with bitter ache that he’ll never forget, because veronica is not the only one who’s ever known what it feels like to love someone who you’re certain can never love you back.

he twists his gaze towards archie. and catches a hint of a smile. he’s gotten lucky. ridiculously lucky. as much as it feels like fucking drowning, he doesn’t ever want to step foot back on land.

and there’s this part of him, as odd as it seems, that takes pity on veronica, and her gazes unreturned. because he knows how that feels, like the ice still sets anew in his veins.

but jughead doesn’t talk to veronica. jughead doesn’t talk to anyone. he sets himself the task of a silent day, coopeded inside his head. because jughead knows he talks with his hands, and dreads nothing like the questions that will come to burn against his skin like acid rain the moment bandaged and bloodied knuckles slip from beyond the safety of his sleeves.

he’s not stupid. not entirely. he knows archie will have to find out in the end.

he punched a hole through the bathroom wall. for christ’s sake.

the notion almost makes him retract any prior claims on the state of his own intelligence. because sure, jughead’s all there in print and theory, but when it comes to emotional and a spur of the moment kind of common sense, he sparkles and fizzles, like a fire right upon the bank of a river.

because maybe it’s a conversation. this inevitable, terrifying beast looming over his head, branded across his knuckles, and stained across his collar bone. maybe it’s a conversation he can handle. at home. with archie. in the quiet of their bedroom.

their bedroom.

that one twists like a knife in his gut.

still, the prospect is something jughead thinks he could theoretically handle. however, addressing the matter in the middle of the school day, in public, with eyes friendly and otherwise, set upon him with an intently malicious kind of high school curiosity, sounded impossible. nightmarishly impossible.

and it was likely.

as common sense seemed to dictate.

it was likely that this nightmarish impossibility was precisely why every nerve in jughead’s body set itself alight with an inextinguishable fire the very moment that lunchtime that betty caught his eye across their table, and slowly, but oh so very surely, let her gaze descend to his knuckles, poking just very slightly out from the sleeve of his sweater.

at the very least, she was silent. she spoke only in concern glances. knuckles to eyes. knuckles to eyes. like she was trying to find the answers blotched like ink into the exposed areas of jughead’s skin.

but as he remained frozen, eyes wide, glassy. betty cooper did what betty cooper always does, and that is, even in conflict of personal preoccupation, the right thing.

“jughead.” his name rolled, uncomfortably from her lips.

it was his name, and his name alone, that had archie’s attention. and with it, kevin and veronica’s too.

“what happened to your hand?” 

by that point, jughead had closed his eyes, as if to shield himself from the impact. or more precisely, that look he could predict in archie’s eyes. because jughead wanted nothing less than archie to stumble into connecting the dots right in the middle of the cafeteria, right in front of everyone.

yet despite his closed eyes, he knew, like hell knew fire, that everyone was looking at him.

alright, true. not everyone in the cafeteria. but everyone at their table. everyone that had any sort of semi-permanent presence in jughead’s life. everyone that mattered.

“jug…” archie’s voice is bottom of the ocean distorted, but he’s the only one who dares to speak. the only one who’s seen jughead behind closed eyes before. jughead wonders, if he lets it continue, whether the others might connect the dots.

but it’s a possibility, enlightening as it does seem, that he doesn’t dare to entertain. because at the centre of it all, jughead’s afraid, most of all, of the answers he finds within himself.

he opens his eyes.

and at once everything is archie andrews. because archie is something like seconds away from taking jughead’s bloodied knuckles into his own, and it’s a gesture born of sympathy and concern, not anything untoward, but everyone is watching. betty’s eyes are burning into his skin. and archie dares. archie dares move his fingers towards him like they are alone. and jughead,

and jughead,

and jughead,

jughead remembers just why he vowed never to punch the wall again.

he draws out a sigh, pulling his sleeves back down - it’s anything to get his hands away from archie’s really. he hates admitting that to himself. but not as much as he hates the way archie’s gaze grows stern in the light. he hates the way archie doesn’t need a single word to know the inner workings of his thoughts.

“it’s fine.” he assures them, perhaps just because it’s not. but it sounds better than ‘i don’t actually trust you enough as people enough to divulge details of my emotional and mental wellbeing in any amount of detail’.

“what happened?” betty tries again, eyes wide with betty cooper curiosity. but jughead isn’t a mystery for her to solve. it’s something he wants to scream from the top of his lungs.

he’s stopped, perhaps only. by the way, archie’s leg moves under the table. and presses their thighs close.

perhaps archie can feel it. the way jughead’s entire body grows tense, on the breath of the very air between them.

for jughead’s yet to quite discern whether archie andrews is a blessing or a cursing, but he has to accept that either way, the boy is a modern miracle.

“i… i…” jughead chases the tail of an excuse. but it’s attached to some dark, grizzly, behemoth creature that darts over the horizon before he can quite catch up to it.

he is thankful, at once, for all the early morning runs archie woke him up with. for unlike jughead, archie is fast enough to catch up to the mangled, mismatched excuse, whatever it may be.

“we were helping my dad move some supplies and shit. jughead slipped.”

and not for one second does anyone believe him, but archie’s got a dark burning fire in his eyes that warns people enough not to ask anymore of it.

jughead’s grateful, eternally, even as a thick, impenetrable darkness crawls up into his gut, and archie becomes relentless in the looks he slides him throughout lunch.

-

“okay, so…”

they aren’t alone until four that afternoon.

they’re taking the long way home. it’s a decision shared on the back of both of them.

the world looks picturesque in the way the tree line rolls up into the skies. but archie only has eyes for him.

it’s a dizzy sensation. one that has jughead with all common sense spewed out on the floor at his feet, as they dare to venture further from the footpath, because getting lost on the outskirts of town sounds like their last viable solution.

because maybe if they die out here together, they might just never have to face anyone else again.

jughead sometimes thinks he’s made a habit out of being unnecessarily morbid. this is not one of those times. this is one of those maddening moments in which jughead is certain that he’s nothing beyond whole-heartedly justified.

“what the fuck happened?” 

his words are so abrupt that even archie himself chokes out a laugh.

yet neither boy stops walking, instead allowing the trees to draw up thick behind them. jughead thinks he wants to put as much between himself and the rest of the world before he even considers answering that question.

“i’m sorry.” he utters, at once coming to a stop. it’s impossible. he wants to hate it. but he can’t quite do it.

at first, archie watches from a distance. like he’s yet to make his mind up about approaching. but with time, upon the back of eventuality, he makes light work of crippling the distance set between them.

jughead closes his eyes.

curses. softly. under his breath.

he’s dumb enough to think he can feel the smile on archie’s breath.

jughead screws his eyes shut for all eternity, like it’s the last bit of control he has, like everything’s slowly but surely crumbling away, and with time there’ll maybe even be nothing left. he wonders who he is, like he has to draw out all he knows of himself, and treasure it, treasure every moment. draw it out, draw it out, draw it out. punch a dozen fucking walls. just preferably not ones that belong to his boyfriend’s dad. because fuck that sounds so weird against his lips. it sounds like the words were pitched only to leave scars. and jughead just fucking wishes he could hate it. but he can’t. he can’t. he can’t. he can’t.

with the gentle brushing of archie’s fingertips against his own, jughead opens his eyes.

it always gets him. catches him off guard.

the way archie insists on being so gentle with him. it drives jughead mad. it’s another thing he wants to hate. but he wants to hate it solely upon the basis that he doesn’t. it only drives him mad because it doesn’t make sense.

and jughead doesn’t know who he is or where he stands anymore. because maybe he wants archie to be angry. because maybe he wants archie to hate him. because on the back of that he might be able to force himself to hate him again.

and then, jughead’s stupid enough to believe, that everything might just go away.

but it won’t.

jughead knows with the pang of his heartbeat in his chest that it won’t, it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. because as the movement of archie’s fingers teases jughead’s eyes open, he takes him whole, as if for the first time.

and says, only, soft, simple, quiet;

“why?”

but that’s a knot in his chest that jughead simply doesn’t have it within himself to undo, at least not on his own conscience. not on his own fingertips, already beaten and bloodied raw.

so he leans forward and lets archie open him up instead.

it’s the same every time they kiss. jughead wonders if he’ll ever be over archie andrews and his lips. archie andrews and the way he coils him so tight around his mind like a spring.

and jughead comes down. only because he knows he will. either bend or break, he’ll fall to his knees, and everything will roll away like stones kicked across the dirt, still thick and wet with the smell of rain. they live in this impossible predicament, jughead thinks. but sometimes he wonders if he would ever have it any other way.

he stalks off a little way down the track, before he quite dares to answer. because this distance between them, at least for the moment, is something jughead needs like a goddamn life line. he doesn’t know if archie knows it, like he knows the curves of his back, or if he’s bleeding with it in his eyes, or whether archie can feel it on his breath, or if it’s just a fucking coincidence, because maybe archie’s scared too-

but jughead doesn’t know. and at once, he doesn’t care.

he stands, a little way down the track, as the pathway begins to bank upwards into a long winding trail that he doesn’t particularly care to get lost down. and breathes.

jughead breathes like air has long escaped him.

closes his eyes. and opens them again.

archie watches him intently, but still, archie andrews - golden boy of a thousand words, doesn’t say anything at all.

“i don’t know.” jughead chokes out, because when it comes to the emotional side of things, it’s the forever trodden truth, as much as he might hate it. “i really don’t know what happened.”

archie’s face softens, eyes cast to the ground, as if something inside him snapped in two with jughead’s words. he imagines, that archie wanted an explanation. something he could understand.

jughead makes himself a promise. it’s not something he does a lot. certainly not for the sake of other people. but archie was never just other people. so he promises himself, the very moment he begins to understand just what’s going on inside of his head, he’ll let archie in on it too.

but he doesn’t say it aloud. because jughead is nothing if not a man of fear and restraint. because sometimes it seems like the trees gossip and whisper in the wind. and because maybe he doesn’t think they’re far away from the rest of the world yet.

“i’m sorry.” jughead adds, stumbling backwards, like he’s mixed it up with forwards. because he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all, but the distance is cutting sharp, and cutting thick.

“you don’t need to be sorry.” archie meets his eyes for that one. his face seems to be screaming - ‘i care, i care, i care’. 

jughead wants to punch those words right off of his lips before they dare to make themselves loud. but part of jughead, growing stronger with everyday, thinks that kissing them off might by a viable option too.

“no.” jughead laughs, and lets archie approach him. he’s not glad for the distance. he’s not glad for anything self-contrived, not anymore.

“why?” archie asks; he’s got this genuine curiosity that tears jughead’s skin down from flesh to bone. and he notices every little thing - from the flimsy corners of his smile, to the heavy worn creases at his eyes.

and then, once again, there’s nothing but breath between them.

jughead starts up the hill. he doesn’t know whether he’s running from archie or himself. but he imagines he might find out along the way, when fate grows tired of him, all that broods in his shadow catches up to him. he thinks, at the very least, it might provide him with some clarity.

“i kind of…” jughead gestures with his hands; he’s moving quickly up the hill, enough to bring weight to his breathing. 

but archie’s an athlete, jughead’s archie, is still archie andrews on the football team, who goes for a run at ridiculous times in the morning. and whether it’s archie or ‘archie andrews’, that boy is always going to catch up to him.

“punched the wall again.” he laughs like that might make it easier. like maybe there’s this part of him that he can fool into thinking they’re still just playing games in the moonlight.

archie nods. catches up to him for real this time. hand on his shoulder kind of everything. and for once, jughead doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.

what he gets instead, is this dizzying feeling, like maybe all along the universe has been making sense; he’s just been reading the stars wrong.

“i guessed so.” and archie takes jughead’s fingers from him. but it feels like he’s taken a whole lot more - the sense from his head, or the weight from his chest - that one, jughead’s yet to discern.

“yeah…” jughead’s words are drivel. his smile is makeshift. it’s pathetic really. because he just might be falling apart into the palm of archie’s hand. he only fears that archie’s not going to be able to catch him with just one hand; and it’s not something he’d dare ask of him.

“i mean…” this time, archie laughs for real. and he’s looking jughead in the eyes, and not at the bruises on his knuckles. that means something, jughead thinks. he just can’t figure out what.

“i was wondering where that dent in the bathroom wall came from.”

the moment stills, they’re tight rope walking, for all of four seconds, or four hours - neither boy can tell.

but then they’re both laughing. like everything’s easy. and there’s sense to be made, even out of an impenetrable nothingness. jughead thinks, archie has guts, if nothing else.

-

“god, we’ve got to tell your dad.” 

jughead buries his head in his hands.

it’s been a day of pacing back and forth in bathrooms; a messy trail of promises and lies that he can’t quite connect together anymore.

“what, though?” archie’s still got this laugh on his face. it’s less bold now. just ecstatic from the high - of what high, jughead doesn’t know. but he dares to imagine that it might just be him.

“i don’t know.” jughead draws out a shrug, and leans back against the bathroom sink. for he knows at least, that if he turns his back on his reflection, his reflection will too turn its back on him.

it’s a rather tiring way to spend a monday evening. assessing the damage jughead had punched into the bathroom just that morning. struggling to spin a story they can explain to the rest of the world.

jughead imagines that people like betty, and veronica, and kevin, are having fun right now, or at least living a life that makes some sort of sense. he imagines, at least, that kevin’s quality time with his boyfriend doesn’t include cleaning up the physical consequences of emotional instability. 

and there’s that word again.

boyfriend.

he can feel his reflection squirm behind him. he wants to scream it back at him, until his skin cracks like porcelain. but this time, jughead’s not listening.

“we could tell my dad that you fell, like in the dark, so you couldn’t see.” archie stops looking at the hole in the bathroom wall. jughead wonders if he thinks that might make it go away. if that’s even a comfort to him.

but both boys, in that bathroom, have their backs turned on one hell of a something, clawing and screaming at all settled and content within.

“i think your dad might see through that one.” jughead muses. a smile even hums at his lips. “okay, maybe that’s an archie andrews falls into the wall with his fist dent, but… i’m a scrawny, emo kid, who’s punched two things in his life… both of which were walls in this house-“

“fine, then.” archie interrupts him. “we’ll say it was me.”

“no.” jughead shakes his head, trying to shake the notion from the air. “i’m not letting you take the blame.”

archie sighs. maybe this is exhausting to him. maybe jughead’s lost any real grasp on what feels like exhausting anymore. he wonders if that’s a hole he can punch his way out of too.

“what then?” he asks, moving away from the hole, and instead, turning to face jughead, with those eyes wide and doting, and an ever-diminishing distance set between them. “what do we tell him?”

and it stings like poison on his lips, but jughead spits it out anyway.

“the truth.”

archie seems to jolt. his eyebrows arch high, and his eyes are stretched wide to socket. jughead wonders if that was a possibly ever entertained in his mind.

“you want to tell my dad that-,” archie stops himself. takes a deep breath. a double take. and starts again. “that you punched a hole in the bathroom wall because- why? jug, why did you do it?”

and they’d been skirting the lake for weeks, but jughead knows they’re on thin ice at last.

there’s this drumming in his chest. this mad part of him that even thinks it feels exhilarating. he doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. he only sits, and breathes, like that might solve everything.

and archie’s waiting. archie’s waiting for him, like he’s the end of the world, and this… this is cataclysm. 

jughead stops. closes his eyes. and thinks.

he takes his shirt off.

he can feel archie’s confusion; the words thick on his lips. but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care. he just needs to do this.

jughead keeps his eyes closed as he points to the mark archie left on his collar bone. he doesn’t need to see it to know where it lies on his skin. he can feel an ache coursing through his veins, like archie’s carved a window into his chest, for which the world to gaze in.

“i…” they both speak. yet neither boy knows what they’re saying.

“i’m sorry.” archie lurches for the easy save. his voice wavers like he’s waiting on jughead to open his eyes again; to ease the ice with soft gazes, and looks that dare to say a thousand words.

“no.” jughead tells him. for the second time that day. “you’re not sorry, because you did nothing wrong. because i asked you. because i let you. this is on me. i don’t want an apology from you… you just, you asked me why.”

archie doesn’t wait. he reaches for his hands. both of them.

it’s enough to jump jughead’s eyes open anyway. he thinks archie knew that. he thinks that might even be why archie did it.

“can i bandage this up for you?” he asks, eyes heavy upon darkening bruises.

jughead sighs, but nods his head.

-

they’re sat in the kitchen. jughead on the counter. archie on the stool next to him.

fred rang just fifteen minutes ago. he’s going to be late home. that’s the only part of the conversation archie cared to recall to him.

jughead sits and thinks. they’ve got pizza on in the microwave. he yearns for the time that they’re sat playing video games, laughing, eating, making a mess of the heavy air. and not the quantitive moments in which archie sits winding a bandage around his knuckles.

it’s moments like these that make him feel sub-human. but that’s not a feeling he knows how to communicate to archie. so he sits silent, still, at least. he thinks archie might be grateful for that.

he can only think, sometimes even aloud. “what are we going to tell your dad?”

archie smiles, softly. “it’s okay. i moved the towel rack to cover it.”

and jughead thinks of archie andrews and a whirlwind of excuses; and the way it seems the world has long given up on believing them. he wonders when that just might catch up on him. upon the both of them.

for he remembers, as the microwave sounds out through the room, that they are, irreversibly, in this one together.

-

despite his innate aversion to the subject, jughead can’t help but find the mere mention of romance fascinating. much less teenage gossip fascinating, however, and much more, animals in a zoo. not that jughead would ever verbalise that.

but truth be told, he finds himself sat alone on the bleachers with veronica. it’s not a situation he made a conscious effort to put himself in - it’s just that archie’s, well god knows where archie is. and they had been with betty, but she’d long disappeared into the crowds of students in search for, of all people, cheryl blossom.

it’s by coincidence that they both find themselves staring at this couple, making out. in a position that leaves the view of the students in front of them entirely obscured. they’re both incredibly agitated: jughead because if he’s being honest with himself he finds the concept of making out disgusting, and veronica, probably, because they’ve blocked her view of betty.

veronica lets out a hum of annoyance. she looks as if she’s debating going up to the two of them and asking them to stop.

and as much as jughead does think that just might make his morning, he kind of can’t help the words that slip off his tongue.

“heterosexuals are weird, aren’t they?”

there’s a joviality to his tone, and perhaps it that which really leaves veronica so astounded.

that’s perhaps the funniest thing of all; because jughead doesn’t even realise the weight behind his words, until veronica lodge is staring at him with eyes set to burn a hole through his skull - starting in his left cheek and tunnelling right to the other side.

“yeah.” she says, nodding, quick to pull herself back together.

it’s only then that jughead dares to look her in the eyes. if only for just a second. because that’s not a statement he can take back. nor is this a hole they can dig themselves out of. they can only sit in silence until betty gets back, and veronica gets so absorbed with betty cooper’s eyes that she forgets they even had this conversation.

jughead thinks to himself, romance really is weird.

but they don’t sit in silence. maybe it’s because betty doesn’t look like she’s quite done with cheryl yet. or maybe it’s because veronica’s mind is buzzing and whirring; and veronica lodge, as nice as she’s always been, isn’t the kind of girl that shuts up.

“you did kind of exclude yourself from that statement, you know?” and her tone is so casual that it almost kills him.

jughead can feel her watching him, with miles of curiosity fastened away behind those eyes. he can’t deny, of course, that there’s a kindness to them. she means well. she doesn’t care. not really. not like he’s scared she should.

and for a moment, jughead stops himself. because what is he scared of? what exactly is it? veronica lodge, flaming bisexual, doesn’t care. in fact, this ought to be a sort of bond between them; after all, he knows how it feels to fall for someone you were certain could never like you back.

with a sigh, jughead realises that it’s not so much the fact that he isn’t heterosexual, that he’s scared of discussing aloud. it’s just the matter of questions, of prying - it opens boxes. it opens up a door for thought, to leave people thinking about him, about his sexuality. and jughead feels like that’s such a personal thing that he almost wants to stow it away inside of himself forever.

but veronica lodge is looking at him.

and he knows he could bury the moment.

but he knows eventuality is going to catch up to him either way around.

so jughead sighs, and nods. “i did.”

it’s quick, quiet, but it’s enough.

veronica nods. and at once, she even seems to understand.

the feeling is odd. yet liberating.

it thrums his bones with a buzz that jughead doesn’t know for the life of him what to do with.

-

archie smells like home.

it’s a sobering feeling.

jughead’s half-way to sleep. with archie’s head resting against his chest. he thinks archie might have dozed off already.

so he doesn’t start to talk aloud. because archie needs his sleep more than most people do.

but his mind’s awake at once in lights and colours. another feeling he doesn’t know what to do with.

it tugs at his bones. and jughead can’t help the way he jerks. it’s a full body spasm.

and it pulls archie wide-awake.

soft, dark eyes are blinking at him through the lowlight.

“what’s wrong?” archie’s words are a lethargic hum, slurred and heavy with the tales of a world greater and more whimsical than their own. for jughead does wonder what it is that archie andrews dreams of.

“nothing.” jughead assures, what he thinks, might just be, the both of them.

“you woke me up.” archie rolls away onto his side. he can get a better look at jughead this way. “that was something.”

jughead draws out a sigh. he makes eyes at the ceiling. like it’s a game.

“just…” he tries. he fails. “just…” he’s got nothing more to give than the steady rise and fall of his chest.

and archie knows it.

“was it me?” archie andrews, suddenly so meek and so mild, murmurs through the darkness.

and jughead bolts upright. blood pumps through his veins. he’s all cliff tops and migraines, and a neither ending chase. a journey with no destination. only an engine burnt out into the dust.

“no.” jughead tells him, words heavy on his brow.

he does something stupid, something very un-jughead. he pulls archie against his chest.

maybe it’s not a necessarily romantic gesture. he thinks that’s why it makes sense to him. because there’s the truth of it. in jughead’s eyes, archie andrews is a boy built upon question marks and empty spaces. it’s just this thing that they’ve got going between the two of them - nothing has ever felt like it’s made quite so much sense.

“i thought maybe-“ archie breaths, stops himself, and tugs an arm around jughead’s waist.

“it’s not you.” jughead tells him; burnt out with an ache.

“because…” archie draws breath. “the hickey, and i-… i thought maybe you didn’t want me touching you, like maybe it-“

“you thought, after i’d pulled you closer, that i didn’t want you touching me?” jughead thinks that’s something archie needs to hear aloud.

he breaths a half-hearted laugh. “well, yeah, but the… the hickey, your fist… the wall… jug-“

“that wasn’t you. that was me.” jughead closes his eyes, and wishes the world away from him. “it didn’t happen because you gave me a hickey. i asked you to do that. it happened because i saw it in the mirror on my skin, at five in the morning, when my head was already just about on the floor.”

“why?” and there’s that forever question on archie’s lips.

jughead drums out a sigh.

“what were you thinking, i mean, i-“

“i was thinking that i kind of liked it. but it was that which made me feel disgusting, like-… i don’t know. it wasn’t you. just the fact that i liked it.” jughead lays his bed at the bottom of this hole for himself he’s digging. “i’m kind of averse to romance, as a concept, it doesn’t make sense, and it’s kind of disgusting, really. i mean, putting your tongue in someone else’s mouth, like what the fuck that’s-“

archie cuts him off. “and you put your tongue in my mouth.”

jughead breathes a sigh. “yeah.”

“more than once now.” archie makes a point of reminding him.

and jughead draws out an odd sort of self-punishing smile. “and i kind of liked it. i think that’s what scares me, archie. because it’s… it’s you. i’m not attracted to people, i don’t get these thoughts, i don’t… date, i don’t kiss people. i don’t get these thoughts about people. never have. it just doesn’t happen, but then-“

jughead feels his mouth growing dry.

still, archie watches him intently, even through sleep-heavy eyes.

“but then, i guess, there was you.” jughead bites his lip. “it’s just you. i’m not attracted to people. i’m just attracted to you. and that’s weird, archie, because i can’t for the fucking life of me figure out why.”

archie honours that one with a laugh. 

jughead can’t help himself from smiling too. “it’s kind of… i don’t know. i guess… developing feelings for you… it was like.” he pauses, thinks.

thoughts are heavy on his brain. but the late hour on the clock won’t wait up on them.

“complete lack of attraction to anyone, you know?” jughead continues; he doesn’t expect archie to understand, because he knows he quite can’t, but that’s okay. “like i was, i don’t know, colourblind, like i’ve never seen the colour green. and everyone goes on about green trees, or whatever, but i literally can’t see it. and it’s baffling, to the point that it just gets annoying, and i just wish everyone would shut the fuck up about it for once.”

archie nods, and smiles.

“and then, it’s like, with you, it was like, suddenly i can see the colour green. and there’s no reason why. and it’s isolating, because no one else gets that it’s weird that i can, because it always weird that i couldn’t. and maybe i’m supposed to be ecstatic that i finally can. but it feels so wrong at times that it’s just… i don’t know. and then like, i got so annoyed with it, i made myself hate it, but… then… yeah…”

he bites his lip.

“that made no sense, did it?”

archie sits up a little way. “no, i actually think it did.” he holds jughead’s eyes through the lowlight. “thank you for sharing that with me, honestly.”

“yeah.” jughead drums out a sigh. “that’s why i… yeah… and it’s not that i want it to stop, because i don’t, i just… i like you, archie andrews. and that terrifies me.”

archie presses a clumsy, late-night kiss to jughead’s cheek. “i like you too.” he tells him. “and i mean, look at it this way, at least i’m never going to be boring.”

jughead rolls his eyes, drawing out a laugh. “oh yeah? that’s like saying no one would ever compete with you, baring in mind that you’re literally the only person in the world i’m attracted to right now.”

“yeah.” archie laughs. “kind of good for my ego, that one.”

“oh, fuck off.” jughead says. his eyes close. and yet he can’t help but pull archie closer.

it doesn’t take them long to fall asleep.

-

it seems that jughead’s one on one conversations with veronica don’t become a singular occurrence. it’s perhaps even all the more revering when veronica lodge specifically waits for him after class to slip in a conversation.

he thinks he might like it though. it might even be nice. more than just tolerable.

because veronica doesn’t come around with questions upon her tongue; she doesn’t chase him in search of answers. they instead seem to be forming some sort of alliance: veronica and jughead against the heterosexuals. he thinks he kind of likes that.

of course, she doesn’t know about him and archie, because that’s a whole other whirlwind that jughead doesn’t dare to venture into, even on his own terms, much less veronica’s eyes. but that’s okay. because veronica doesn’t look at him as a source of entertainment. she looks at him as a friend.

it seems, however, upon that particular afternoon, that veronica’s chosen a rather revealing subject of conversation.

“how is it possible that betty still looks at archie like that?” she’s frustrated. they don’t talk about why. each of them know enough.

“i don’t know.” jughead laughs, and tries not to get the thought under his skin. because that’s a whole spiral and succession of thought that he doesn’t need to let fester upon his brain in the middle of school. or ever, perhaps.

“she knows that he doesn’t… you know… feel the same way about her. shouldn’t she… maybe this sounds bitchy, but she needs to move on.”

jughead tries to think about anything other than the fact that archie andrews is his boyfriend, and not betty’s, as he replies. “she needs to move on.” he concurs, almost managing it.

“i don’t know…” veronica draws out a sigh; she gestures vivaciously with her hands as she talks - it’s something jughead’s come to notice.

“i mean…” veronica’s tone is fleeting; like she can’t quite get the words out. “maybe… it’s not a lost cause, maybe-… maybe archie does like her back, and maybe they’re going to be all-“

“no.” jughead has to stop her right there.

he even goes as much as to put himself between her and her locker. and then they’re at a halt, eye-to-eye, in the middle of the hallways.

jughead jones and veronica lodge. he thinks that’s quite the sight.

“no.” he tells her again. “that’s not. that’s not going to happen.”

and veronica takes a step back, and looks at jughead as if through new eyes.

“and on what basis would you make that conclusion?” she dares to ask him, lips wavering around the notion of a smile.

“natural intuition.” jughead pulls on a smile - pretends it’s an any easy facade. and urges at once to put as much distance between himself and veronica as possible.

because she doesn’t know. not quite yet. but there was something in that half-way smile that seemed to suggest that she was getting there.

-

jughead takes archie on that date come friday night.

he’s put a lot of thought into it. by which he means he’s pestered kevin a few times, and ran a quick google search - that one only made him cringe in the end.

they just go to pop’s in the end. because he doesn’t think either of them ever wanted anything particularly extravagant anyway. of course, jughead has to bare in mind the fact that there’s little distinction from a normal night at pop’s, to what he has essentially built up as some great display of romantic competence. 

still, of course, jughead doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. but archie knows that. and archie doesn’t mind. and he thinks that just might be what ensures that they’re alright.

“come on.” jughead watches archie from across the room.

he’s sat on the edge of his bed. their bed. the bed. 

“i’m taking you on a date.”

jughead’s even put on a jacket that doesn’t have stains on. it’s something archie’s eyes are drawn to as jughead lingers in the doorway, and he remains frozen on the bed; for at once, it’s archie that looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

jughead bites back a smile. he likes that.

“what?” archie finally finds air enough to comprehend jughead’s prior statement.

“yeah.” jughead nods. “me. you. pop’s. come on.”

“so is this a… date…?” archie says the word ‘date’ like it really means something. some word in a language jughead really doesn’t understand. “or do you just want a burger?”

jughead rolls his eyes. despite his agitations, he can’t help but smile.

“what if i want to go on a date with you… and… eat burgers?” jughead cracks a grin. “because i’ve thought about this intensively, and that’s kind of the whole angle i was going for, you know?”

archie laughs, and gets to his feet.

“what’s all this for?” he scrounges around the room for his phone. “i’ve gotten used to you not making an effort.”

jughead tries on a smile. “what does that mean?”

“the last time i tried to take you on a date you froze up and wouldn’t talk to me.” there’s bitterness to archie’s tone, but jughead has to admit, it’s the truth.

“well…” he draws out a sigh. “that’s you taking me on a date. not me taking you.”

“and that’s different?” archie catches his eye, only half-way serious.

“yeah.” jughead nods. “i think it is.”

-

it’s the same booth at pop’s. the same orders. the same smiles.

but it’s dizzyingly new.

maybe because jughead knows this is him giving archie andrews permission to look at him like that in public. maybe this is him even asking him to.

and at times it seems as if the world is a mess he just doesn’t know what to do with anymore. but there’s a growing part of him that’s come to rather like that.

they talk. about all that’s on their minds. conversation with archie has always been easy; for once, jughead doesn’t feel as if he’s on edge. even when archie inclines his whole body towards him. and looks at him like that.

like.

like the way veronica looks at betty. like the way kevin looks at joaquin. 

and for once, jughead just wonders what the world would say if they knew. for wouldn’t that be a dizzying kind of madness to delve into.

but not now, not tonight. not when archie is all gold and smiles and stories told a thousand times over. stories, that still, jughead listens attentively to every time.

it’s only when archie checks his phone that their whole little corner of the universe is thrown terribly out of orbit.

“i’ve got…” he trails off, brow furrowed. “seven texts from veronica.”

he glances up at jughead. eyes wide. 

“seven.” he repeats. like jughead hadn’t heard him the first time.

jughead nods, finishing his mouthful, as he gestures for archie to pass him his phone.

and for god knows what reason, archie, without a question, does.

“yeah…” jughead raises his eyebrows, scrolling through the messages from veronica, that archie, at first hadn’t even dared to open.

“what’s happened?” archie asks; his face is a painful kind of concerned, like he fears he’s done something wrong. it’s an expression that makes jughead feel feelings. naturally, he hates it.

but doesn’t let himself look away.

“it’s about betty. she’s asking you about betty- she’s going a bit…” jughead draws out a sigh, reading through the messages once more. “you know how veronica’s got this massive, insanely obvious crush on betty that the rest of the world has somehow failed to notice?”

jughead slides archie’s phone back to him across the table.

archie nods, only glancing at the messages briefly.

“she thinks there’s something going on between… me and betty… she-“

“look, i tried to talk to her today-“

“and now she thinks you’re protecting me?” archie groans, burying his head in his hands. “i mean… why?”

“why what?” jughead muses, leaning back in the booth.

“i mean, why would she even think that i-“

jughead draws out a sigh. sometimes, he can’t even believe all that archie lives in utter oblivion to.

“what?” he asks, cheeks turning red.

“you haven’t noticed the way betty looks at you?” jughead folds his arms across his chest. if he’d known archie any less, he wouldn’t have bought it.

“i…” archie stammers. “i don’t look at betty, i look at you.”

jughead rolls his eyes. “i get the sentiment and everything, archie, but, maybe, just maybe, pay the rest of the world a little bit of attention for once.”

archie cracks a smile. “you’re distracting.”

jughead groans, rubbing his eyes. “you’re an idiot.”

and jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen archie smile that wide.

“no, but seriously…” he draws out a sigh. “you’ve got to sort this out.”

“i don’t think she’s going to believe me if i just… tell her it isn’t true.” as much as archie’s gotten himself into a mess about this, jughead has to admit that he’s probably right.

“then…” he trails off, mulling over the notion. “you’ve got to give her proof, haven’t you?”

“how do i prove that i don’t like betty like that-“

archie stops.

and at once, both boys teeter on the ends of the very same tightrope.

“it’s an option.” jughead offers it out to him. “she already knows i’m not straight.”

archie stops. “you came out to her?”

jughead half-smiles. “no, i sort of. i didn’t intend to. i sort of just made a comment about how annoying straight people are. i guess that’s weird. but it’s alright. she doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“oh.” archie drums his fingers on the tabletop.

jughead knows that the weight on him really considering it.

“i guess that’s because she’s bi herself, so she understands, you know? that you don’t want everybody in your business-“

“what about you tell her for me?” archie’s cheeks are flushed; this bears heavy upon his head - that’s clear to see.

“your sexuality isn’t my business to offer up to people-“

“it’s not my sexuality that matters though. it’s… this, it’s us. it’s this relationship. because it’s not just my relationship. it’s yours too. and i’m asking you to tell her, before she blows everything out of control, and goes to betty about it, or something.”

jughead thinks for a minute.

he hates it. but archie’s right.

he pulls out his phone.

they both sort of stare at it as it sits on the table for a moment.

jughead can see his reflection in the screen; he wavers for a moment. his reflection seems to smirk at him, like it has something to say.

but jughead breathes in.

and decides at once, that he’s not listening.

“dear veronica…” he reads aloud as he types.

“why do you text like this is 1939?” archie laughs, cheeks forever flushed red.

“why do you get your boyfriend to send texts for you?” jughead shoots one right back. 

it’s teasing. nothing more than that. because they can both stab an easy guess at the real reason why. and it’s not something to be brought to light in the middle of pop’s.

“…i can wholeheartedly confirm that there’s nothing going on between archie and betty. and as his boyfriend, i, jughead jones, the third, kindly request that you stop texting him about it. he’s getting quite flustered-“

“i’m not!” archie proclaims, even as his red cheeks scream otherwise.

jughead only grins. “you are.”

archie shrugs, like he half-way accepts it.

“send?” jughead asks, at once holding archie’s gaze, like he never has before.

archie,

bites his lip,

looks to jughead,

looks to the food,

looks to the floor,

bites his lip again,

looks to jughead,

curls his hands into fists,

uncurls them,

hums out an unruly smile,

and nods.

“send.”

**Author's Note:**

> i think there's one more part in this series but i'm not 100% sure yet
> 
> hope u enjoyed this - kudos and comments and the like are very much appreciated
> 
> if you would like, you can also follow me on tumblr/twitter at jugheadless


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